


Réconfort

by flevramovr



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Chef Louis, F/M, Kitchen AU, Sous Chef Harry, dorky!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flevramovr/pseuds/flevramovr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisette Dupre is tired of working in a lad infested kitchen, and Réconfort might just be the restaurant to help her change all that, even if there's a few challenges (like how the sous chef is has serious mood swings, or how there's a former chef-de-partie who's name no one will mention, and how the patissier cries every time the croissants don't come out right), but she might as well stick around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Réconfort

“Fuck this,” I hear myself yell over the clamoring of the kitchen. I have just felt yet another hand on my ass as I bust that same ass to get prep and plating done at the same time, sweat gathering on my forehead. I throw my rag on the counter, beside the plates I have just finished carefully composing, slamming the spoon covered in a strawberry compote onto the stainless steel and ripping my apron off as I storm out of the kitchen.

“Dupre, where do you think you’re going?” I hear Chef bellow, and the kitchen goes eerily silent. I know that I am one of the most valued people in this kitchen, but I also know that I am tired of being groped because of being the only girl.

“I quit.” I state calmly, giving Chef a sad smile. The kitchen is quiet before it breaks into an uproar, the man who touched my ass going pale in the face. I rip open the buttons on my whites as I throw open the back door, knocking over a few milk crates on my way out. I can hear Chef swearing loudly behind me and cursing my name.

I pull out a cigarette and drop my whites off in the laundry bin.

I light my cigarette and carry on.

“What makes you qualified for this position?” He asks, looking over my resume as I stand in the kitchen, pressed against a counter as people hurry around the small room to finish prep before the dinner rush starts at seven.

“Well, to be honest, sir, I’m very good at what I do. I’m red seal certified, and I studied in France for two years under one of the best chefs worldwide. I was _sous chef_ at Le Mur for a year and half and before that I was a _chef-de-partie_ for two years.”

“What made you quit Le Mur?” he asks, leaning against the counter, reading over the resume with a quick look.

“I was, uh, harassed by most of the men there. I was the only woman in the kitchen there. I stayed with it for three and half years, but I finally met my wit’s end.” I admit. He carefully studies me, his blue eyes meeting my own brown ones.

I need this job badly, and I am praying in my head that he sees that I can do this. He sighs in defeat, taking another look at my carefully produced resume.

“We need a _chef-de-partie_ for plating and someone to take over for our _saucier_.” He says. I can’t help but break out into a wide grin. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, _chef de cuisine_. I’m not here as often as I should be, so you’ll be working with my _sous chef_. You start tomorrow morning. He’ll be teaching the basics of the dishes.”

“Sounds great, sir.” I answer. “I’ll sharpen my knives and clean my whites.”

“Follow me,” he orders, and I immediately do. “We wear red neckties, if for nothing other than appearance and tidiness. We don’t bother with the toques unless you are requested at a table.” He states, handing me a red necktie as we continue in the crowded kitchen. “This is the plating station, where you will be spending most of your time. This is the _grillardin_ area, stay away from here unless you want to get burnt. That’s Nick, he’s the current _tournant_.” Nick waves as he stops chopping herbs for a few seconds. Louis glares at him and Nick turns back to the herbs. “This is Josh, he’s our regular _poissonnier_.” Louis says, putting his hands on Josh’s shoulders. Josh utters a quick hello as he’s slicing a fish from tail to head, making quick work of the small thing.

“Harry’s late again,” Josh remarks and Nick chuckles over by the stove. Louis groans and brings me over to the next station.

“This is the _entremetier_ , Eleanor.” Louis says, waving over at the brunette at the counter. “And this is the _patissier_ , Ed.” Louis explains over the loud whirring of the mixer, which Ed is using to beat butter.

“Hi!” Ed says loudly. I say hello back and we continue on.

“We had three  _chef-de-partie_ , but one just quit, which I’m still bitter about, who you will be replacing. I have a feeling you’ll be able to keep up, so I won’t worry about you too much. Styles can watch you work and he’ll report back to me.” Chef says, bringing me back around to the door.

“Yes, Chef.” I answer quickly. A smirk appears on his face and he slaps me on the back.

“Good lad.” He jokes, grabbing a toque and pressing it onto my head. “Glad to meet you, Lisette, good luck tomorrow.”

“Yes, Chef.” I say. “You too.”

I turn and exit out of the back door, but as I’m escaping the madness of the chaotic kitchen, I run into a warm body.

“Fuck,” I curse, stepping on their toes. There’s a hiss and I look up to see a tall man, long curly hair pulled back from his face, blood shot but very green eyes, and a scowl on his face.

“Ouch,” he intones, his voice deep and gravelly.

“Sorry,” I apologize, stepping back and taking in his whites and set of kitchen knives. I remember hearing Josh remark about Harry being late again and I assume that this man is Harry. “You must be Harry,” I say, shoving my hand towards him. His eyebrows pull together before he smiles at me, dimples appearing.

“You must be new.” He laughs, and I nod, grinning.

“Lisette Dupre,” I introduce. He shakes my hand. “I’m the new _chef-de-partie_ and _saucier_.”

“Harry Styles.” He says. “ _Sous chef_.”

“Ah,” I wince at my mistake, replaying me stepping on his toes in my mind. “Of course. Sorry about the whole running into you thing.”

“It’s OK.” He laughs. “It’s a small kitchen.”

“Harold,” Louis yells from inside.

“Well, I better get going before Chef has a hernia. See you tomorrow, Dupre.”

“Same to you, Styles.” I shake his hand again before he breezes past me into the busy kitchen.

This might actually be fun.

The next day, I show up almost half an hour early so I can change into my whites and get used to the placement of the kitchen.

At least, that's the plan.

When I show up, the door is locked and when I press my ear against the door, I don't hear anyone inside. I check my watch again to ensure that I have the right time, which I do. I sigh heavily and pull out my pack of smokes, humming lightly to myself as I raise the lighter to the end of a cigarette, already positioned in my mouth. I take a deep breath and let the spicy smoke fill my lungs, ignoring the slight burn in my throat.

I take out my cell phone and sit on one of the milk crates by the garbage can, letting my mind wander as I surf the web.

Forty five minutes later, I’m still sitting on the crate and I’m on my fourth cigarette. I developed the bad habit for chain smoking from my grandmother, or so my grandpa says. I chuckle around the filter at something my friend texts me, coughing lightly.

“Cigarettes kill, you know,” I hear somebody say. I look up to see Harry’s unshaven face, eyes red again as he locks the door to his car, lighting a cigarette held between two pink lips.

“So I’ve heard,” I respond dryly, smoking the last bit of my own cigarette as I lock my phone, then throw the butt of my cigarette on the ground with the rest of my charred tobacco and crush it with my toe.

“Looks like you’ve been here a while.” Harry remarks, nodding his head at the butts under my foot. I grin sheepishly.

“About forty five minutes.” I shrug, tugging my jacket closer to me as I stand up, covering my embarrassing dirty tshirt with my slightly better looking jacket.

He turns around, biting the cigarette filter while he digs in his jacket pocket for the keys, swearing lightly under his breath as he sorts through candy wrappers that fall to the ground and what looks to be half a chocolate cookie, chocolate smearing on his hands as his face turns red.

He finally finds his keys, sandwiched between a Mars bar wrapper and some loose Skittles. He lets out a triumphant yell as he shoves the key into the lock, balancing his knives and his candy wrappers as he toes the door open, shoving his way inside before holding the door open for me with his foot.

“OK,” he starts, “you’ve already been given the tour of the kitchen, so we’ll get straight to the little stuff.”

I dump my knife set onto the counter and take my coat off, hanging it in the coat room with Harry’s. I watch Harry as he rolls up the short sleeves on his t-shirt and gathers his hair for a bun, which he holds back with a pink hair tie. He plugs his phone into the speakers and some very relaxing music starts playing out, which he starts to hum along to.

“Is this Devendra Banhart?” I ask, laying my knife mat out flat so I can choose which ones to use. I also tie my brown hair back, but I use one of my sister’s homemade scrunchies.

“How’d you know?” He asks, sharpening one of his French knives, so I do the same.

“It’s the guitar.” I laugh, making quick work of my knife while I move onto my slicer knife.

We finish sharpening our knives quite quickly, and we immediately move onto our respective jobs. I basically wait for Harry to tell me what to do before responding with a quick “yes, Chef.”

I take direction well, apparently, because pretty soon he’s wandering off to deal with other things while I prep all the ingredients for the night, waiting for others to show up to take over.

“Good,” Harry says, inspecting the spices that I’ve been chopping with a twinkle in his eye. As he says it, some young kids walk through the door, chatting animatedly. Harry is suddenly all business.

“You’re late.” He snaps, jaw clenching. The two of them pale considerably, swallowing heavily.

“Sorry, Chef.” The girl says nervously. I try to hide a smile at Harry’s sudden anger, but apparently don’t do a good enough job, because the boy is breaking out into a smile.

“Is there something funny, Jeff?” Harry barks. Jeff’s smile drops and his eyes widen.

“No, Chef.” He breathes.

“That’s what I thought.” Harry says, raising an eyebrow. He gestures to me with his thumb. “This is your new boss.” He explains, and both of their eyes train on me. I wave at them with my knife, only stopping the chopping of my mint for a moment.

“But I thought that Z--” The girl starts.

“You will not speak that name in this kitchen ever again, Evey.” Harry hisses. She looks down quickly.

“Sorry, Chef.” She says, laying her miniscule knife set on the counter.

I am still reeling over Harry’s transition from candy loving idiot to harsh boss as Evey introduces both herself and Jeff to me as they set up their stations with a cutting board and their knives. I respond quickly before I am directing the both of them to fetch and chop various ingredients, starting with the basics of the complicated tomato-tarragon sauce used for a deconstructed lasagna dish, of which I was reading the very complex recipe.

I leave the kitchen in the afternoon to have a quick nap before my shift for the dinner rush. I step out into the cooling afternoon air and let the breeze chill the sweat on my skin before I pull out a cigarette. I’m lighting it as a car pulls up and a blonde haired boy steps out, swearing as he jumps out, wiping frantically at his shirt, covered in hot coffee, steaming in the cool London air.

“Fuck,” he repeats, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You OK?” I call, taking a drag as he whips around to see me standing by the garbage bins.

“Who are you?” He questions, freezing in his tracks. I step forward, holding out my hand.

“Lisette Dupre. _Chef-de-partie_.” I answer as he shakes my hand.

“Niall. Horan. _Chef-de-partie_ also.” He responds. “Wow, I never thought Louis would replace--”

“Don’t say his name!” Harry yells from the coat room as he stumbles out with one arm in his coat, so quickly he almost trips.

“Sorry, Chef.” Niall laughs at his antics as he winks at me. I shrug and take another drag of my cigarette before checking to see I’m almost smoking the filter. I toss it to the ground and crush it with my toe before checking my watch.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, lads, but I’ve got to squeeze a nap in before my shift tonight, and I’ve got a bus to catch.” I say, shouldering my backpack containing my knives and two energy drinks.

“Where do you live?” Harry asks as he finally gets his arms in his sleeves.

“Across the bridge.”

“Sweet, I’ll give you a ride. I live that direction.” Harry states, wrestling his keys out of his pocket again.

“Well, see you guys at seven.” Niall calls as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Nice to meet you!” I call back. Niall throws a wave over his shoulder and jogs the rest of the way inside, frowning at his shirt, now stained with a large splotch of coffee. 

"Looks like the lads will be working tonight," Harry sighs happily, "this is going to be a blast." He finishes, tossing a handful of Skittles in his mouth. Back to candy loving idiot it is, then. 

 


End file.
